SPOT WETS THE BED FOR A MILLION YEARS

(or, Spot's Eleventh First Christmas)

written Christmas Eve, 2004
Copyright (C) 2004 James "Kibo" Parry

Happy little Spot! What a good little puppy! Spot turned around
in bed three times and fell asleep, knowing that in the morning
it would be Christmas and he would receive fabulous prizes,
presents, trinkets, and entitlements of all sorts.

Zzzz!

In the morning, he woke up, rolled over, and screamed. He was in
bed with a creepy guy dressed like a playing-card character, with
a fluorescent orange beard and a cardboard crown. The Burger
King held out a deep-fried croissant sandwich and licked his lips
suggestively! Spot screamed again!

"Wake up with the King!" said the mysterious voice of the
narrator who often spied on Spot through a hidden peephole in his
bedroom wall. Being in this creepy commercial that compared fast
food to waking up after an unintended drunken gay romp scared
Spot so much that he wet the bed.

"That's not very nice, Spot," said Santa Claus, who was standing
by the bed with his arms around his friends, Ronald McDonald, the
Michelin Man, and the Jolly Green Giant. Spot tried to cover his
face with the pillow so that the various creepy advertising
characters in his bedroom -- especially Santa Claus -- couldn't
see him sobbing. But he did keep wetting the bed.

Later that day, Spot found that he had no presents, and his bed
was so thoroughly wet that it wasn't drying out. There was
nothing he could do except switch apartments with his neighbor
Einstein, who really didn't care how wet his bed was.

Spot made himself at home in what had been Einstein's apartment,
enjoying the sight of Einstein's festively-decorated Christmas
tree. Suddenly there were jack-booted footsteps on the roof and
an FBI agent dropped down the chimney and held a gun to Spot's
head!

"Albert Einstein, you're under arrest for being a genius and a
priceless national treasure!"

"But I'm not Einstein! I'm not even people! I'm just a pathetic
little puppy who thinks he's people! Waah! Why won't you
believe me that I'm pathetic?" Spot left a trail of tears as the
agent dragged him off to the interrogation lounge.

Once Spot was strapped to an Eames chair upholstered with Brillo
pads in the interrogation lounge, the agent calmly and rationally
explained the situation. "Albert Einstein, because it is
essential that the United States Government Of America know all
the coolest scientific secrets in the world, and because you
understand the Theory Of Einsteinology and we don't, we're going
to torture you until you can explain your theory to us. You
know, the one about how clocks get fatter when you turn their
hands backwards while going the wrong way in the Southern
Hemisphere, or whatever it is."

"Waah! I'm not Einstein! I didn't invent the Theory Of
Relativity and I sure as hell can't explain it because I'm just a
dog and I'm really starting to hate Christmas!" wailed Spot as
the agent injected him with a needle of boiling sodium pentothal
to make him talk. But all he talked about was how the pentothal
injection was interrupting the good cry he'd been having. The
drug wore off, and Spot resumed crying right where he'd left off.

"Tell you what, Einstein, if we can't make you talk about your
Theory Of Einsteinology... we'll simply freeze you. Then, in the
future, we'll thaw you out again once newer and more futuristic
forms of torture have been invented, and then you'll talk. What
do you think about that?"

"Your plan is ridiculous, and also, I'm just a dog, and I may not
know anything about no science, but I do know that dogs die when
you freeze them."

"Don't worry, we've solved at least half of that problem. When
you freeze a whole dog, it dies of frostbite before the cold can
penetrate all the way through the dog. So what we're going to do
is run you through this baloney slicer, and then all the thin
little slices of you can be frozen in a fraction of a second
before they even bleed, and then someday after both medical
science and torture science have been perfected, we'll reassemble
you in perfect health and then torture you to death so you can
tell us all about those clocks that turn from blue to green when
they cross the International Date Line backwards."

ZZZZZZORCH! went the baloney slicer and Spot was sectioned up and
frozen between pages of an old dictionary.

Much time passed.

Later, Spot awoke in a futuristic white plastic prison cell. He
had been revived after all his slices had been peeled out of the
dictionary and glued together in alphabetical order.
Unfortunately, this meant that because his body had been
alphabetized, his mouth was now between his eyes and his nose,
and his bunions were all connected to his butt, making it hard to
walk. A digital sign on the wall of the prison cell said:

THE CURRENT TIME IS 11:53 PM, DECEMBER 24,
IN THE YEAR 1,002,004 AD

INTERROGATION COMMENCES IN THE YEAR 1,002,005 AD

Oh no! Spot had only a few days to escape before he'd be forced
to sit in some sort of futuristic spanking machine or whatever,
until he made up an explanation for why the Theory Of Relativity
made clocks get all woozy! And worst of all, this cell had no
windows or door or chimney so there was no way Santa could visit
him here in this futuristic, dystopian Christmas!

"Hello, Einstein," said the ghostly voice of an invisible man who
entered through the wall.

"Well, I'm not Einstein, but I'm happy to have the company. Who
are you?"

"I once was one of your old contemporaries, Nobel maven Niels
Bohr. But while being imprisoned here for most of the last
million years, I meditated until I evolved into a higher being --
I am now a superhero named Captain Nil. I can pass through walls
and bullets can pass through me and nobody but you can see or
hear me."

"Wow! How does that work?"

"It's because I don't exist, you stupid dog," said Captain Nil,
who Spot now realized was only a figment of his imagination. He
was alone again. He sat on his butt (even though it wasn't the
same part of his body it used to be) and waited for it to be
Christmas, and then time for lethal torture.

After a little while, Spot was feeling sleepy, so he curled up in
the corner of the cell and tried to sleep. He couldn't, partly
because the cell was too small for him to be able to turn around
three times -- he only managed to do it twice -- and because the
cold hard plastic floor was so uncomfortable. He wished he had
his old mattress.

Suddenly he realized, Captain Nil was right! Anyone could
circumvent the wishes of even the most repressive
science-fictiony police state by just wishing really hard,
because in science fiction none of the laws of logic ever apply!
He squeezed his eyes shut and wished until his ears bled. There
was a soft "pop", and Spot's mattress appeared beneath him.

After a million years, it was still damp and yellow, but now it
also had a million years' worth of futuristic cooties. Spot
cried himself to sleep on his pissy mattress and dreamed of a
world where people didn't care whether or not they understood the
theory of Relativity.

Meanwhile, back in the year 2004, Einstein was drinking all the
beer from Spot's fridge.